Wow. So, religious poetry and what we mean when discussing poetry as “religious”? Well, I think the differences between the “spiritual” and “religious” should be identified without reducing both to a mere discussion of metaphysics, but for the purposes of this response, I’ll stick with the latter. I tend to think about religious poetry as working within the tradition of a certain creed or established belief system while expanding on it—to provide new insights and new possibilities for audiences to understand and make relevant said belief system(s) to their lives and experiences. I wouldn’t limit a poet’s imaginative/artistic scope to any one creed, though, because many poets (including William Blake and many other Romantics) offer syncretic and mystic understandings of many religious perspectives (“All Religions Are One” is a great example). Nor would I limit artistic intent to the audience, because writing religious poetry could (and, sometimes, must) be read as something deeply personal, a conscious effort to articulate and materialize one’s perspectives. Thus, here is my springboard into EBB’s “A Romance of the Ganges” and “The Virgin Mary to the Child Jesus.”
I tend to read “A Romance of the Ganges” as a highly figurative representation of life with themes that aren’t bound to any one religion but show the concurrences of many religious perspectives. Firstly, it seems EBB sets the scene through a dark glass (pun intended!) by the light of the moon, which complements my religious understanding of the poem. She writes, “What bring they ‘neath the midnight, / Beside the river-sea? / They bring the human heart wherein / No nightly calm can be,— / That droppeth never with the wind, / Nor drieth with the dew. / Oh, calm it God! thy calm is broad / To cover spirits, too” (10-18). The maidens put their “hearts” within the coconut shells and leave them to the dark, ebbing sea. The representations of life as a voyage at sea is a common motif in much Anglo-Saxon literature (“The Wanderer,” “The Seafarer,” and The Voyage of Saint Brendan come to mind), and it can be found within Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. So, if reading the poem as a figurative representation, it’s appropriate that the speaker calls on God to calm the waters for the voyage of their hearts, as the “unsunk” vessel depends on the low ebbing of the waves in the vast sea of infinity. And, if I’m not totally off with reading this poem as “religious,” the focus on the contents of the vessel speaks to EBB as a post-Romantic, centering on sentimental experiences with death and love as powerful driving forces that determine thought processes and behavior; hence, the dichotomy of Nuleeni and Luti. Even though much more may be said about this piece, for the sake of keeping this response within a reasonable length, I’d like to discuss “The Virgin Mary to the Child Jesus.”
There were a few instances in the poem where I said to myself, “Whoa!” As Stone and Taylor discuss, EBB works within a similar vein as that of Felicia Hemans in that she recovers lost female voices within historical accounts (in this piece, scripture). She is so bold and confident in her artistic abilities as to speak on behalf and assume the persona of the Virgin Mary with compassion and sensitivity. In assuming the persona of Mary, she poignantly identifies her dual identification with and responsibility for Christ—as His mother and (future) devoted follower. But, the ways EBB empowers Mary when she’s in the presence of the seraphim is nothing less than astonishing and awe-inspiring: “How motionless / Ye round me with your living statuary, / While through whiteness, in and outwardly, / Continual thoughts of God appear to go, / Like light’s soul in itself…Though their external shining testifies / To that beatitude within, which were / Enough to blast an eagle at his sun” (42-46, 48-50). Here’s Mary expresses her consciousness that she’s in the presence of the highest order of angels, in all the supreme blessedness of their nature and core of their existence. But, she creates a parity that sets herself parallel to their magnificence in the presence of her son: “Ye are but fellow-worshippers with me!” (57). Literally, I was awe-struck with this line and found a deeper appreciation of her work (even more-so than my experience today when we discussed the first sonnet from Sonnets from the Portuguese).
I tend to read “A Romance of the Ganges” as a highly figurative representation of life with themes that aren’t bound to any one religion but show the concurrences of many religious perspectives. Firstly, it seems EBB sets the scene through a dark glass (pun intended!) by the light of the moon, which complements my religious understanding of the poem. She writes, “What bring they ‘neath the midnight, / Beside the river-sea? / They bring the human heart wherein / No nightly calm can be,— / That droppeth never with the wind, / Nor drieth with the dew. / Oh, calm it God! thy calm is broad / To cover spirits, too” (10-18). The maidens put their “hearts” within the coconut shells and leave them to the dark, ebbing sea. The representations of life as a voyage at sea is a common motif in much Anglo-Saxon literature (“The Wanderer,” “The Seafarer,” and The Voyage of Saint Brendan come to mind), and it can be found within Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. So, if reading the poem as a figurative representation, it’s appropriate that the speaker calls on God to calm the waters for the voyage of their hearts, as the “unsunk” vessel depends on the low ebbing of the waves in the vast sea of infinity. And, if I’m not totally off with reading this poem as “religious,” the focus on the contents of the vessel speaks to EBB as a post-Romantic, centering on sentimental experiences with death and love as powerful driving forces that determine thought processes and behavior; hence, the dichotomy of Nuleeni and Luti. Even though much more may be said about this piece, for the sake of keeping this response within a reasonable length, I’d like to discuss “The Virgin Mary to the Child Jesus.”
There were a few instances in the poem where I said to myself, “Whoa!” As Stone and Taylor discuss, EBB works within a similar vein as that of Felicia Hemans in that she recovers lost female voices within historical accounts (in this piece, scripture). She is so bold and confident in her artistic abilities as to speak on behalf and assume the persona of the Virgin Mary with compassion and sensitivity. In assuming the persona of Mary, she poignantly identifies her dual identification with and responsibility for Christ—as His mother and (future) devoted follower. But, the ways EBB empowers Mary when she’s in the presence of the seraphim is nothing less than astonishing and awe-inspiring: “How motionless / Ye round me with your living statuary, / While through whiteness, in and outwardly, / Continual thoughts of God appear to go, / Like light’s soul in itself…Though their external shining testifies / To that beatitude within, which were / Enough to blast an eagle at his sun” (42-46, 48-50). Here’s Mary expresses her consciousness that she’s in the presence of the highest order of angels, in all the supreme blessedness of their nature and core of their existence. But, she creates a parity that sets herself parallel to their magnificence in the presence of her son: “Ye are but fellow-worshippers with me!” (57). Literally, I was awe-struck with this line and found a deeper appreciation of her work (even more-so than my experience today when we discussed the first sonnet from Sonnets from the Portuguese).